‘Does any of this matter?’ Minala demanded.

Obelisk . . . past, present, future. Time, and time has no allies ... ‘Probably not,’ the assassin replied.

They rode on, skirting the pit at a safe distance. More dust trails crossed their route, with only a few suggesting the passage of a human. Athough it was hard to be certain, they seemed to be heading in the opposite direction to the one Kalam had chosen. If indeed we’re travelling south, then the Soletaken and D’ivers are all travelling north. That might be reassuring, except that if there’re more shapeshifters on the way, we’ll run right into them.

A thousand paces later, they came to a sunken road. Like the mechanisms in the pit, it was six arm-spans down. While dust filled the air above the cobbles, making them blurry, the steeply banked sides had not slumped. Kalam dismounted, tied a long, thin rope to his stallion’s saddlehorn, then, gripping the rope’s other end, began making his way down. To his surprise he did not sink into the bank. His boots crunched. The slope had been solidified somehow. Nor was it too steep for the horses.

The assassin glanced up at the others. ‘This can lead us in the direction we’ve been travelling along, more or less. I suggest we take it – we’ll make much better time.’

‘Going nowhere faster,’ Minala said.

Kalam grinned.

When everyone had led their mounts down, the captain spoke. ‘Why not camp here for a while? We’re not visible and the air’s a bit cleaner.’

‘And cooler,’ Selv added, her arms around her all too quiet children.

‘All right,’ the assassin agreed.

The bladders of water for the horses were getting ominously light – the animals could last a few days on feed alone, Kalam knew, though they would suffer terribly. We’re running out of time. As he unsaddled, fed and watered the horses, Minala and Keneb laid out the bedrolls, then assembled the meagre supplies that would make up their own meal. The preparations were conducted in silence.

‘Can’t say I’m encouraged by this place,’ Keneb said as they ate.

Kalam grunted, appreciating the gradual emergence of the captain’s sense of humour. ‘Could do with a good sweeping,’ he agreed.

‘Aye. Mind you, I’ve seen bonfires get out of control before ...’

Minala took a last sip of water, set the bladder down. ‘I’m done,’ she announced, rising. ‘You two can discuss the weather in peace.’

They watched her. stride to her bedroll. Selv repacked the remaining food, then led her children away as well.

‘It’s my watch,’ Kalam reminded the captain.

‘I’m not tired—’

The assassin barked a laugh.